At least twice a year I participate in formal ‘Open Studio’ events: when artists invite the public into our workspaces (often multiple artists at the same complex, sometimes organized by an outside entity). Visitors get to see what we’re working on as well as the quirky detritus that accumulates in a studio over time. This post is illustrated with such details from my own workspace, like this one:
Looking up at a high shelf with a small clay model for a figurative painting (circa 2002); jars full of my own hair rolled into tiny balls after shedding for a long-term color change analysis; some seedpods preserved in alcohol, and a ‘Fur Bra’ sculpture emphasizing the directionality of cilia (body hairs) which cover most of human skin, including breasts. See, interesting tidbits!
I know from my side of things there is a lot I get out of the Open Studio experience:
it’s a way to introduce people to my artwork and my workshops,
I often sell some small pieces, and it’s sometimes the very first original art purchase a person has ever made, which feels pretty special,
It forces me to tidy up my studio,
I get a lot of social positive reinforcement (which, if you mostly work alone, is pretty delightful), and
it feels like a public service on behalf of artists everywhere to emphasize that actual people put time, effort, and specialized skill into making things that serve the purpose of forging human connections.
An embroidered reminder by Margaret Timbrell, some dried flowers given to me as fresh flowers at a previous Open Studio, and a framed quote about doing what we are meant to do.
That last ‘public service/forging human connections’ part may sound like too much, huh? But here’s the thing: we artists do that. Forget that survey that lists artists as the most non-essential workers.
In our everyday lives each and every one of us human beings is surrounded by images and objects that were created by artists. A lot of those things make our lives better and make us feel connected, although we take that for granted more often than not. Seeing an artist working in their element and deftly using the tools of the trade- whether it’s a sculptor or a graphic designer or a cake decorator- is a reminder of the human touch behind the finished product.
‘Beauty Mask’, a ceramic sculpture from my college years with stitched-together lips alongside a felt rainbow Mood Brightener by Tricia Stackle and a comfortingly squishy stitched strawberry by Amy Brown.
Why does that even matter? Because we humans thrive on connection, and suffer from its lack.
Experiencing the things other people do and make and feel strongly about and spend time on is a form of connection. The stories that come along with that are another whole layer: the why behind the creation itself (using the ceramic wheel to shape a pot as a form of meditation on imperfection), or the material used (the satisfying buttercream feel of acrylic paint), or the process (reassembling pieces of a beloved’s broken mug into a mosaic). The memories or metaphors or feelings prompted by a landscape painting or a handmade book or a voluptuously abstracted fiber sculpture are real and valuable means of connecting with ourselves and other people.
Cast of my teeth after braces were removed, encircled by faux laurel wreath from my Artist Laureate award. Still not sure how these teeth may come into play…
And visiting an artist’s studio? That’s where you get the really interesting tidbits. Granted, we all do some tidying and think about what is being presented to outside eyes (that’s not just me, right?). But even so, in a visual artist’s studio you get to see the kernels of ideas, the weird little inspirations, the trials, the experiments. You get to see the thing they kept around for no particular understandable reason except later it turned out to be THE KEY TO EVERYTHING. You get to see the raw materials (physical and otherwise) and sometimes you even get to see the acts of creation taking place.
At least as much as one can do so while simultaneously entertaining visitors.
A few of the teeth and bones I’ve collected or been gifted. These DO play into the forms I create. And I can’t stop acquiring them, so that must be something, right?
I get it, maybe that’s not something everyone is curious about. Maybe I’m assuming that my own particular wiring is more universal than it actually is. Heck, I just read about how difficult it is for people to effectively communicate seemingly simple concepts through words. THAT was an interesting read about how we tend to talk past each other and can’t even agree on whether a penguin, that overdressed aquatic bird, is more like a chickadee or a dolphin. As an aside, it makes me feel a lot better about how my own artwork is interpreted by others in ways FAR different than how I conceived it.
Peeking into artist’s studios has a lot to offer the curious. And you don’t even have to talk to the artist. I can tell some people come in ready to dodge the hard sell as if it’s a used car lot, averting their gazes and ‘just looking’. They don’t want to engage, or maybe they feel like they won’t have the right knowledge or are afraid to ask questions that might sound stupid. And maybe they’ve come to that stance for good reason- because they’ve had other experiences along those lines.
But just looking? That’s fantastic. Looking is enough.
My dove-headed altered doll lounging against some plaster-coated felt experiments and one of my favorite books, ‘Extraordinary Pigeons’.
You’re allowed to respond however you respond. Taking a quick stroll in and then out again is also a valid response. I try to make people feel welcome in my studio because I really do feel like part of my mission is to make art and artmaking more accessible and part of everyone’s life. But not everyone is going to like what I make. I can live with that. Mind you, I don’t need anyone to treat real life interactions like social media and tell me to my face in all caps that what I’m making is NOT ART. (That’s never happened in real life, at least, happily). But it’s perfectly fine with me if you’re not my audience. And you may in fact be exactly my audience but not buy anything today or tomorrow or ever. That’s okay too.
I’m going to keep making things that make me feel alive and connected, and inviting others to join me in those feelings. So come on in and take a look. We can talk or not talk. When you look at the things I have made and collected and tried you can guess at what I must have been thinking or feeling or trying to express, or you can chew on what you yourself think or feel, or you can ask me (and my answers may change, and yours might too).
A monotype print of a toothy teddy bear, circa 2001 (?), an indirect precursor to subsequent teddy bear anatomical specimens that also feature teeth. Are you wondering where this all came from? Let’s chat and find out!
I’ll be exhausted by the end of the day, but pleasantly so. Drained but also filled up. And in a few days (I DO need to rest afterwards) I’ll be back in there, working and playing. Until the next time.